


The Nighttime Visitor

by SoupRegrets



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demonic Possession, Dream Sex, F/F, Pain, Wet Dream, demon girl - Freeform, in the words of someone whose fault this is, no blood but lots of, no genital focus, of a horny sort, reader is transfem, sharp teeth hot, she's very princely, vampire-style biting, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupRegrets/pseuds/SoupRegrets
Summary: A hungry demon enters your dream so she can feed, and you, in your infinite generosity, allow her to.
Relationships: Demonic Visitor/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	The Nighttime Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> If reader seems less horny than in canon then I apologize, I don't write for this fandom very often
> 
> (The reader is referred to mostly as "My Lady", and her/their genitals aren't specified or described, though there is mention of a fair bit of slick, estrogen-ejaculate type fluid. There's also biting and pain, a substantial amount of pain, but no blood or gore.)

As you lie in your bed, thoughts swirling so loosely in your head they might be dreams, she meets you and, by the hand, pulls you in.

The world flows around you, loose and fuzzy, until you find yourself standing in the middle of a ballroom with her; her fingers wrap around yours, and the moonlight streaming from the large, elegant windows illuminates both her smooth skin and the checkerboard flooring beneath your feet.

"Hello." She says to you, softly. Her voice is husky, and gentle, and carries no hint of anger or malice. Her gaze sweeps up from your feet to your face, and you find yourself transfixed by the piercing yellow eyes staring into your own.

You open your mouth to speak, still processing, still taking her in--her winding, curling black hair, her princely attire, the horns and tail curving elegantly out of her head and around the back of her legs--and open your mouth, but before you can make a single sound, she speaks again.

"Do you know what I am?" She says to you, raising your hand to your face as if she were presenting it to you.

You recognize what she is immediately, somehow. _You're a sleep demon._ You think to yourself, and you're fairly certain you do not say the words out loud, but she hears them anyway.

She smiles. "I am. And do you know what kind, My Lady?"

You feel the telltale heat of arousal creep up between your legs and settle in the pit of your belly and know the answer to her question. _A succubus._

"Mm. That's right." Her eyes slide down towards your belly and legs and linger there for a moment, and you can tell that she knows how your body feels without needing to be told.

Despite the fact that she seems to know your every thought and sensation as soon as you do, you don't feel unsafe; the world you inhabit feels unreal, personal, like it's yours. Like a dream, albeit an unusually coherent one. _What do you want?_

"I think we're both more interested in what you want, My Lady." She says softly, tugging you a little closer to her by the hand, close enough that her face is only a few inches from yours, but not close enough for your bodies to touch. You're vaguely aware of her other hand sliding behind the small of your back, holding you up, but rather than her arms, it's her eyes that make you feel locked in place, the intensity of her gaze nearly making you forget about your body entirely--except, of course, for that burning, aching feeling between your legs.

_What I want?_

"I know your feelings, My Lady." She smiles crookedly. "Your feelings on one particular subject, at very least."

A pulse of liquid arousal rushes through your body, and you shudder in her grip. Your skin feels hot.

Gently, she laughs, and her eyes glitter in the pale light. "You were out, awake and alert, and you had the thought. The desire."

You blink and the memory returns to you. She's right; you had been up and awake, doing some task you can't remember at the moment, and the feeling had hit you. The neediness, the desperation, the urge to be touched and used and filled and _fucked_ , and you had glanced around you, hoping that it hadn't shown on your face--and then it was gone, just like that, and you had gone on with your day as if the feeling had never come over you, even if your underwear had been a bit damp afterwards.

"You remember." She releases your hand and brings her own up to your chin instead, tipping your head upwards with her forefinger and brushing your lips with her thumb. "Perhaps it's your body, perhaps your mind, perhaps even the hormones you imbibe..." She slides her hand further down your back, resting it right above your bottom, and you tilt backwards even more, the woman above you filling your field of vision. "...but regardless, you need, and I am here to provide."

You feel soft, delicate fabric brush against your legs and belly, and just then notice that you're wearing some sort of pale, nightdress-like garment that hangs off your body in accordance with gravity's laws, even as you feel as though you're falling. She still hovers above you, holding you up, the back of her fingers brushing your cheek as she looks into your eyes expectantly.

_I want that._ You think to yourself, meeting her gaze, and she smiles.

"Of course you do."

You feel yourself gradually land on what feel like soft bedsheets, and then she's on you, pressing her legs between your thighs and climbing over top of you, her mouth crashing into yours. Her lips, her body over top of you, are all-encompassing, and the heat in your belly rolls through you, spreading from your burning cheeks to the tips of your toes. She presses you backwards into the bed, and the needy feeling overtakes you again, leaving you a squirming, heated mess, wanting nothing more than to be _used_ , if not by her then by the tendrils of sensation creeping up your ankles and calves.

She shifts her hands to your hips, sliding them underneath your dress in the process, and trails her fingers up both sides of your ribcage, digging a knee between your legs and grinding her crotch into yours. You whine without thinking and buck your hips up, back arching at the sensation creeping its way up the backs of your thighs--it's like a liquid that tingles against your skin, like a thousand fingertips stroking you all at once, like you're sinking into an ocean of touch that promises to fill and use you like you know you need to be.

She grabs twin handfuls of the garment on you and tugs it in two, exposing your body to her, holding out her hands with fingers outstretched so that you can see the fabric dissolve into nothingness and blow away in the wind. As she looks down at you, she licks her lips, and the feeling on your skin spreads through the rest of your body, nearly swallowing you whole, drowning you in an ocean of touch and sensation. She reaches up and brushes the hair out of her face, as if in preparation.

"I... _want_ as well, My Lady." She says softly, staring at you through half-lidded, yellow eyes. The river of touch flowing over you slows for the moment, just long enough for her to smile broadly, almost _hungrily_ down at you, and then you see her teeth; both her canines and lateral incisors are unnaturally sharp, clearly there for a purpose that frightens and excites you in equal measure.

The feeling's absence lets you think a little more clearly even as you ache at its loss, and you flinch at the sight of the sharp implements despite yourself. _I--_

"I need only to feed, not harm." She rests her hands at the sides of your body, making a deliberate effort to avoid touching you. "But it will hurt." She smiles again, and you feel a pang in your gut. "For you, _exquisitely_."

Still somehow worked up beyond belief, you reach down to touch yourself, but she catches your wrist before you can. "Answer me." She whispers to you, and you feel the surge of touch rush up from your feet to your knees again as she leans over you, as if she's just waiting for your word. "Answer me, allow me, and I will overtake you. Use you." Her eyes glint. "Like I know you need."

_Do it._ You think.

She bares her teeth, her jaw falling just slightly slack, and grins. "Enjoy yourself, My Lady."

With that, the rushing, overwhelming pleasure floods over you again, and you cry out as it flows through you, _in_ you, somehow permeating every part of you and staying external at the same time, driving into and over you with an aggression and urgency that was previously absent. The sensation is like nothing you can recall feeling before or since, like a thousand hands focused everywhere and nowhere all at once, and as you look up at the demon's face, you see the telltale smirk of a woman who has unflinching, utter control over you, her eyes locked on yours.

She raises her brows and gestures theatrically, and you feel your pelvic muscles contract and a frankly excessive amount of liquid gush out of you and run down your thighs. You whimper at the feeling of it--you still seem to have control of that, at least--and your pitiful noise seems to inspire something in her. She leans forward, grinning again, and breaks eye contact with you for the first time in a while, resting her head next to yours. She opens her mouth and waits, the pleasure coursing through you ramping down and her hot breath warming your bare skin, and you shudder at the tension of the moment.

"Are you ready, My Lady?" She murmurs to you. You know that you can't turn your head to answer, and don't bother trying.

_I'm ready._

She moves forward, to your shoulder, and hesitates there, seemingly examining your skin as she caresses your belly with her free hand, gently--and then she tightens her fist, and the savage heat blossoms in the pit of your gut again. The molten core of pleasure pulses through you, and you watch as your legs twitch and stiffen helplessly in response, unable to focus on anything but the liquid fire burning a hole in you as she leans over you more and lets out a little satisfied hum, apparently having found her mark.

"Here we go." She says, and digs the tips of her teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck.

The pain lances into you, sharp and hot, and you let out a scream that tapers off into more of a pathetic, whimpering whine as the two sensations intermix. The burning in your shoulder dulls to a throb, and for a moment you think the pleasure at your core might overtake it, but then she starts to move, sinking her teeth in and dragging them through your flesh and over your shoulder towards your front. The feeling of it is _agony_ , as if someone had embedded a line of molten iron along the twin trails she's torn in you, and it doesn't go away--but at the same time, the feeling in your belly pulses again, and again, and then more intensely each time, balancing you on a knife's edge between pleasure and pain.

There's no air left in your lungs for you to scream, but you try anyway. It's all you can do to keep from falling.

She makes a noise and starts to suck, drawing something out of you and into her. It's not blood, you're fairly certain of that; it seems like something more ephemeral, more abstract than that, but you're in no state to puzzle out what it might be. Dazed, you let her continue, and as she does you eventually notice that the pain is receding and that the pleasure is morphing into more of a pleasant, diffused glow, a warm, buzzy feeling that engulfs your entire body. Now that the pain is gone, you feel...exhausted, actually, but in a good way, especially once she pulls off of you and leans back, looking satisfied.

You blink sleepily, once, and the bed is gone. You glance at the nothing beneath you and blink again, and she disappears too.

You blink a third time, and then you can't see your own body anymore, and the last thing you hear before you fall asleep again is: "Thank you for the meal, My Lady."

* * *

You wake up in the morning feeling remarkably well-rested, and it takes a few bleary minutes to remember your dream. When you do, you hurriedly pull your shirt off and check your shoulder for marks or scars, but none are present, and it takes a few more moments after that for you to notice the sorry state of your underwear. They're nearly soaked through, and a bit of your slick fluid has even stained the bedsheets underneath, not to mention the large, dark pool of sweat that seems to have formed beneath you as you slept.

You sigh and climb out of bed, not having planned to wash your bedding today and a little annoyed that you're going to have to. You begin pulling the sheets off, and as you do, a scrap of something sticking out from under your pillow flutters to the ground under your bed, out of your field of vision. You bend down and pick it up, confused as to why it's there, and take a closer look.

It's a twenty dollar bill with a heart drawn on it in red marker.


End file.
